


Go Straight To

by sweetiejelly



Category: As the World Turns
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Schmoop, Smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetiejelly/pseuds/sweetiejelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Christmas Eve, Luke and Noah get stuck together. Literally. But thankfully, they're able to get themselves out of that tangle. (They still end up stuck together anyway, in a better way.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Straight To

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of [thehayloft](http://thehayloft.livejournal.com/)'s [Holiday Gift Exchange](http://thehayloft.livejournal.com/31367.html) for escapes, who asked for "holiday themed happiness and smexy tiems." Hope this is okay, Dani and a belated Merry Christmas! Happy holidays to you and a happy new year as well! ♥
> 
> Title plus section titles are lyrics from ["Let's Go Straight To Number One"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_uyIPNHL8jM) by Touch and Go. I kinda messed up the lyrics a bit in my head, so there's an extra "slowly" section that's a bit out of place, in case anyone's wondering!

_Ten. Kiss me on the lips._

Luke sucks in a deep breath, inhaling the scents of sugar cookies, cedar pine, Noah and _glue_. He snaps his eyes open and tries again.

“Still stuck,” Noah confirms as a couple of his fingers curl down and around Luke’s hand, not helping the matter at all.

From around the corner come barely suppressed giggles. Luke and Noah share a look. “Sage? Natalie?” Luke calls out. But there is no response.

“This isn’t funny!” Luke bites his lips and tries not to think about the warmth of Noah next to him or how his treacherous body’s curling forward, fingers closing over Noah’s fingertips.

“Hey, walk this way with me, Luke.” Noah tugs them away from the kitchen table and towards the fridge. “Is there margarine?”

“Really? Not in the mood to make pies right now, Noah.”

Noah looks like he wants to laugh, his lips doing that thing where they curl up and straighten out and curl up again of their own volition. “Do you even _know_ how to make pies, Snyder?”

Luke groans. “I just – I don’t want to spend Christmas Eve in the E.R. I don't want to have to explain how we got like this and what – what are you doing?”

Noah rubs margarine over their hands where their skin’s pressed together with super glue. “Just rotate your wrist a little, like – yeah, like that. It’s supposed to help.”

Luke looks skeptically at them, at where they’re getting shiny and slippery (and just a tad hot despite the cold touch of margarine). “Are you sure you’re not just buttering me up?”

Noah smirks at him. “This is actually not butter.”

Luke lets his head fall forward on Noah’s chest and groans. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

Noah _hmm_ s and breathes a little heavier, just a little. But this close Luke can’t help but notice. It triggers the same response in him. It’s been years since their hands first touched and it still makes him feel that thrill, that heady rush of want. He looks up and catches Noah watching him before Noah drops his gaze down to their hands. “It’s starting to work, I think,” Noah clears his throat.

Luke hooks his little finger over Noah’s. _Yeah._

~~

It takes melting the whole stick of margarine for the glue to finally give. By then, Luke’s body temperature has gone up significantly. (And not from the cookies in the oven, rising, firming, growing more and more fragrant by degrees.)

“Finally,” Noah says as he turns on the tap, testing the temperature with the back of his hand. “Are you okay?”

Luke lifts his eyes up from where they were definitely not ogling the snug fit of Noah’s sweater or how pretty the stitching over Noah’s back jeans pocket looks. “Yeah, yeah, a little sore but I’m okay.”

Noah takes Luke’s hand in his, “c’mere,” and washes it for him, soaping skin and nails thoroughly under a warm stream. It makes Luke’s heart scream something obscene, like _I love you_. He smiles at Noah instead and lets him wash them both up.

“You could help, you know.” Noah bumps his shoulder playfully.

Luke bumps back and flicks water at him. One flick becomes two and then Noah’s gasping, mouth a lovely _O_ , and flicking back.

“Emma’s going to kill us. We’re making a flood in here!” Noah ducks ineffectively under an arm. He looks younger like this, open and boyish and wetter by the second.

“It doesn’t matter.” Luke steps closer and backs Noah up against the lip of the sink. His palms rest relaxed on the countertop, almost close enough to Noah’s hips to touch. He slides them forward instead, reaching behind Noah to turn the water off. If that makes Noah swallow and breathe with a little more difficulty, Luke’s completely unrepentant.

“Thanks,” he flashes a smile. “That’s a pretty neat trick with the -” he gestures for what he think passes for a _stick of something_. Noah just swallows again and stares back, eyes dipping to his lips and to the sides of his lips where Luke supposes his dimples are. Luke leans forward and up, arched in a lazy cat-yoga move.

Noah meets him in the home stretch, mouth fusing sweet over his. Noah tastes like cinnamon and coffee from earlier, tastes more confident than Luke remembers. All grown up now, he has to remind himself as Noah’s stubbles graze his skin. Luke draws an unsteady breath and angles his head to deepen the kiss.

Of course, that’s when half of Luke’s family shows up for dinner.

_Nine. Run your fingers through my hair._

They’re sitting so close to the TV that there are blue shadows on their cheeks, sliding veil-like over their eyes, noses, lips. The popcorn bowl has long been set aside, emptied of its offerings. How they managed to eat all that after the dinner is beyond Noah. All he knows is that Luke is behind him, legs perfect for leaning against.

Luke’s hands have found their way into Noah’s curls about half an hour ago. Luke’s been scratching, soothing, pulling and Noah’s no longer paying attention to the Christmas movie on screen. After all, he already knows every note and every line, every angle every time. But Luke – Luke he could study for the rest of his life.

_Eight. Touch me. Slowly._

“Let’s take a walk around the pond,” Luke says as Lily carries a sleeping Ethan out of the parlor.

“Dress warmly, boys.”

“We will, mom. Good night.”

“Good night, guys.” Holden squeezes their shoulders as he ushers a yawning Natalie up the stairs as well. “See you in the morning.”

“Early!” Natalie turns to inform them. “For presents!”

“Are you sure Santa didn’t just drop off a lump of coal for you this year?”

“Luke! I already said I’m sorry! And it was Sage’s idea. We just wanted you and Noah to get back together.”

Noah can’t see Luke’s face but whatever expression is there, Nat beams before she disappears up the turn of the staircase. Holden follows and the door closes behind him.

Noah pushes slowly to his feet. They’re finally alone.

He squeezes Luke’s shoulders and drops a kiss on the base of his neck. “Hi.”

Luke leans back into him and turns his head for a kiss. “Hi.”

“We’re not really going to the pond, are we?” Noah rubs down the side of Luke’s arms, noting the soft pattern of Luke’s sweater, the way it feels like the finest down. He could touch Luke forever, he wagers, in or out of his various stripes and solid colors.

“It’s freezing out there.” Luke turns and hooks his arms around Noah’s neck. “And too far.”

“What about Emma’s rules?” Noah laughs into the kiss.

“What about them?” Luke slides his palms warm and slow over the slope of Noah’s nape and kisses all protest out of him.

_Seven. Hold it. Let’s go straight to number one._

Something about the night and Luke’s kisses makes him bold. (Luke’s always made him bold with his boldness.) Noah backs Luke into the guest washroom, kick-locking the door behind them, and holds Luke against the rim of the sink, and kneels.

And peels. Luke’s jeans bunch at his knees and Luke’s brief follows, a little pool of black on top of the blue.

_Six. Lips._

But Noah’s lips catch higher, rubbing over, mouthing over, tongue out to lick over the crown and under and down.

_Slowly._

Things happen so fast sometimes. The pace of soles clacking on pavement. The flashes of cameras blinding even as they bind a moment. Sometimes, Noah feels like his years with Luke prior to L.A. was just a rush of minutes.

One minute he’s scared. The next he’s kissing Luke for the first time, falling tongue-tied into something like love. One minute he’s holding Luke at an arm’s length. The next minute he’s pressing close, chasing the cold away on his way down Luke’s body, counting the wonder of ribs, the wonder that Luke is his. And one minute Luke is; the next he isn’t. 

And now Luke is again.

Noah wants to slow everything down, freeze this moment with the rasp of their breaths, heavy and needy in the echo of the room.

He wants to drink it all in. The way Luke’s thighs are strong and spread apart for him. The way Luke’s hands are shaky in his hair. The way Luke’s eyes are a glazed hazel staring down at him. The way Luke feels expanding in his mouth, twitching with, with need. The way, the way Luke holds his breath as Noah sucks. Slowly. Up. Ward.

And down. And down. And down-

ward.

_Five. Fingers._

Noah is intimately acquainted with each of Luke’s fingers. He knows the curve of them, how one juncture of the right pinky is slightly crooked from that accident on the basketball court.

He knows the textures, how there are small calluses on the thumbs from years of farm work, mucking out the barns or swinging an ax.

He knows the length of Luke’s fingers, how they feel brushing against his nose, his cheeks, his arms, down the slope of his back or pressed against his spine. How they part his cheeks.

He knows how they feel slicked with saliva or lube or dry, dancing, teasing all over (all under, in) him.

He knows the strength of their grip – on the bars on their bed, on the back of his legs, on the front of his shirt.

_Four. Play._

He knows how Luke likes to play. Luke could play with him for hours, take him to the edge and back off swiftly to the sound of his groans, and take him to the edge and–

-and sometimes Noah begs.

Only Luke knows how filthy needy Noah’s language gets when he’s desperate enough. When _please_ doesn’t do it. When _please_ gets followed by words like _fuck_ and _me_ and _now_ and _god please, Luke, fuck_.

Luke is an expert at play. Like now, like how he’s lifted Noah’s head up to full height and pushed Noah’s jeans down to half height. How he’s curling his tongue around Noah’s tongue and side-sucking it, teasing, tilting Noah’s world just right.

Luke runs his hands all over Noah’s chest and back and sides and wraps tight around Noah’s hair, and Noah wonders momentarily which deity it was that had multiple limbs and when did Luke become it?

Luke rocks against him, little rolls of hips and long drags of body. Luke pulls back only to kiss him and turn him and ground against him, sliding him (balls) against the cool of the smooth countertop. Noah’s chin falls forward onto his chest and he can’t look at the debauched sight of them swaying in the mirror. It hurries his impatience and he wants – he wants to take his time, to stay in this minute, stay in Luke’s touch.

Luke’s certainly in no hurry. He lifts Noah’s sweater over his head, letting the static electricity run wild, plucking strands of hair sideways. “It’s literally electric when we touch,” Luke says.

Noah groans, “You’re so lucky you’re cute,” and tries to roll his eyes. But he catches sight of Luke peeking over his shoulder, eyes hot and hair a tangled mess, and swallows instead.

Luke nips at the shoulder and kisses it better. Luke kisses the back of Noah’s neck and mouths his way down as his hands meander down Noah’s front. He positions Noah’s legs further apart and pushes the denim off. Noah should be freezing perhaps, naked as he is in this drafty room with the cool touch of the granite against him. But on his other side is Luke and Luke negates all of that with his warm breath, his deft fingers, with his body that braces and traces him.

Without preamble, Luke licks past the small of Noah’s back and between his cheeks, passing the wet of his tongue warm over Noah’s hole, making it clench. In anticipation.

Luke pets him, smiling against taper of his tailbone. “Shh. I know I said Emma’s rules don’t matter. But I really, really don’t want my grandma to come knocking on the door right now.”

“Can you knock on my door instead?” Noah’s pretty sure all his blood’s gone from his head. (Or well, at least that’s his excuse for the cheesy line.)

Luke chokes out a chuckle anyway, and complies, hands cupping him firmly open, tongue laving over and over until Noah’s biting down on a whimper.

It’s a stretch. It’s always been. But Luke is surprisingly patient when it comes to this, to opening Noah up, bit by bit. It surprised Noah the first time, when Luke kept licking, making a U-turn, like Noah’s body was a candy cane. But by the time Luke got to cock, swallowed around it and made Noah moan, the single digit sinking in only felt slightly weird (and then really good).

_Three. To number one._

Speaking of which, Luke is doing right now, having turned Noah around again to sink that hot cave of a mouth over Noah’s cock. Noah knocks his head back against the mirror and clutches the edge of the sink.

Luke sucks and fingers him in the way that only Luke can, with his expressive face full of love. Noah has no defenses for this, doesn’t want any.

From the pile of clothing, Luke digs up supplies. “I love that you thought we might-” Luke holds up the two condoms and points at the small tube of lube.

“- get back together?” Noah holds onto Nat’s words and holds his breath.

Luke blinks slowly, lips a lovely rim of red, and stands. Achingly slow, he kisses Noah once and pets his face. “Should have done it earlier.”

Noah lets the breath out and smirks. “In the parlor?”

“Ew,” Luke kisses him again anyway. “In L.A. When I visited this summer. It was a lot warmer.”

“I’m warm now.”

They lean their foreheads together and get warmer still, bodies remembering each other, the best spots. Luke holds an arm over Noah’s spine where it’s sloped over the sink. His other hand holds firm around Noah’s hip.

Slowly he pushes in. Noah’s tight around him, warm and perfect, just like Luke remembers, possibly better. Luke breathes through it as he bottoms out. He pets at Noah and presses kisses to his back. “Okay?”

Noah pants and nods and pushes back against Luke. It starts their rhythm going, this perfect tandem of push and pull. Luke always pushes him (to be honest with himself, to pursue his dreams, and just up against the wall sometimes) and Noah likes to think he pulls Luke (out of loneliness, out of his insecurities, and possibly sometimes out of his mind).

Like now, how Luke’s thrusting steadily into him, slick and wet where the lube urges them on. Luke’s hands are pressed tightly on Noah’s back and hip, holding on for grip. It drives Noah crazy to feel Luke’s hands there, thumbs insanely sweet in their little circular rubs, the other fingers possessive, almost rough. All of it is Luke, is them together, and Noah wants all of it, this little package of them, even without the smooth wrappings and the pretty bow. Luke is still the best gift Noah’s ever gotten in his life.

Luke kisses at his shoulder blades, little bubbles of “god, god, god” misting there. “So close,” Luke wraps a hand over Noah’s cock and pulls a long one, coating it in its own come. And then Noah does, goes gasp-y and then raspy on a moan. Luke holds on just long enough to enjoy his sounds. He always does. And then he follows, hips pumping till he slumps and muffles his moans on Noah’s skin.

They go loose-limbed into the clean-up. Luke takes over this time, washing Noah for him. “We should probably confiscate these towels. I don’t think anyone would want to use them now.”

“So romantic, Snyder.” But Noah leans his head on Luke’s and nuzzles.

“Yeah, well, I’ll leave the flower-buying to you.”

“Trying to coerce flowers out of me after you’ve deflowered me?”

Luke snickers. “I deflowered you a long time ago.”

“Well, you did it again.”

“What are we? Britney Spears? Or those come-again virgins?”

That surprises a laugh out of Noah. “ _Come_ again?”

Luke brushes his fingers along Noah’s cheek and kisses it. “Later, baby.” 

Noah wraps him close and kisses the smirk off of Luke’s mouth. “Promise?”

Luke just raises his eyebrows, eyes brighter than the star on top of the Christmas tree. “Oh yeah, you’re stuck with me.”

~~

That night Noah sleeps in a guest room out of respect for Emma. In the morning when Luke wakes, dragged down the stairs by the commotions from overexcited siblings and cousins, there are:

  1. a cup of coffee waiting for him, OD’ed on sugar and cream and spice just like he likes it 
  2. a lovely arrangement of wild flowers, as pinked as Luke and as sunny as his smile 
  3. Noah



Luke doesn’t even care about the presents under the tree.


End file.
